Nine Months
by LenaAlexHunt
Summary: One-shot. Alex Drake gets her dearest wish fulfilled, but is she really happy? What will Gene think?


**Angsty little one-shot I thought up whilst sitting in my English Literature mock, and wrote up whilst watching Mad Dogs... hope you like it, it might be a bit over florid on the description but enjoy and please R&R!**

Alex Drake sat, one hand cupping her distended belly through the clinging top she wore. There were no makeup tracks staining her cheeks, not any more. She had cried away too much of her makeup – now she realised there was no point in even attempting to stop shaking long enough to hold the brush still, no reason to try and make herself look perfect because he wasn't going to come no matter how much mascara she wore.

Somewhere deep within her, the baby kicked, a constant, living reminder of the torment she endured on a daily basis as she tried to adapt to life without him. It had been six months since she had left him, stood silently in the street, never looking back, never turning. Six months since she had walked away from the only man she had ever loved, the only man she had wanted to spend the rest of her life with, yet had so cruelly rejected her and told her to leave him.

It was six months since Nelson had told her she could have but one wish, now that she was supposedly in Heaven. Some kind of heaven it was, when she couldn't even have the person she loved, couldn't even bring herself to get drunk any more. Not with the baby. Ever since the precious, painful form had started to grow within her, she had sworn herself off the wine she had previously enjoyed so much, as much rejecting it for her own sake – wine was supposed to be a social drink, and the memories stirred by a bottle of house red were too painful for Alex's broken mind.

Her dearest wish. Her memory returned to that night more times a day than she cared to remember, running through the events, the words she had spoken to Nelson and the magical events that followed. A return to the night, seemingly forever ago, when she danced with Gene, when she felt his heartbeat racing under her touch, smelt his breath, his lips nearly on hers. Only this time, in her wonderful dream, there was no Keats. Their lips met, dancing with passion, and then they were flowing together, and Gene was with her, in her, and she could taste him and feel him and she was crying his name...

And then...

And then she was waking up...

Waking up alone, always alone, and she was curling up, tormented by the images her brain now insisted on relaying to her at every opportunity. As time passed, the images were assimilated by her brain and that first, ill-fated night was erased from her mind, overwritten by the second, wonderful night. And then the child began to grow within her, blossoming with life, a constant, cruel reminder of the life she could never have had with Gene.

And now... now Nelson said she had to go. Said a pub was no place to raise a child, especially not alone, and now she said her goodbyes, finding her eyes relatively dry, her tears all shed months before. As the door closed behind her one final time, she was alone on the street where Gene had left her many months ago, and she walked as lightly as she could manage in her present condition to the spot where he had stood, his words ringing in her ears. The walk back to Fenchurch was a lonely one, her battered suitcase clutched in her left hand, the right rubbing a constant reassurance onto her stomach, feeling the butterfly-light kicks under her palm.

She arrived at her flat and found, to her surprise, that the key was in the same place she always left it, and she pushed open the familiar door, taking in the scent of wine and ink, noting with some surprise that there was little dust around the place, and that – curiously – there was washing up on the draining board. She hadn't left that, had she? And then... shit.

She definitely had not left Gene Hunt asleep on the sofa, clad only in a shirt and boxers. She couldn't help but let out a tiny cry of exclamation, and he stirred, rolling over and landing on the floor, waking up with a grunt and taking in her form sleepily, cocking an eyebrow wordlessly. She was disappointed. She had wanted a slightly better reunion, something dramatic, romantic maybe, certainly not this.

"Bolly Kecks... I thought I told you to stay in the pub... and not get up the bloody duff." His words were thick with sleep, and she scowled, resolving then and there that she wouldn't tell him about the true paternity of the baby until it was absolutely the right time. That night was awkward, the small talk painful, and as he probed about the child she brushed his questions away, understanding that for him, the night had never happened. The time passed, and she fell asleep on the sofa he had previously occupied, smelling his whiskey and his cigarettes and wondering how on earth she could tell Gene Hunt he was going to be a father.

The time presented itself three months later, as she screamed her way through the first contraction at her desk in CID, ever-determined to remain working until the last possible moment. The words slipped through gritted teeth and he stood, staring at her in shock and bemusement as she yelled louder: "You're her father, Gene!"

At the hospital, after he had left her alone to moan in agony and clutch at thin air though the birth, she prayed he remembered, prayed that by some miracle he would remember that magical night, prayed that he would return to see his little girl as she entered the world. But he remained conspicuous in his absence, and as she stared down at her perfect baby girl, with eyes as bright blue as the sky, eyes that were indisputably her father's, she shed a single tear for the love that could never be.

"Bolly?" the voice was hesitant as she slept, breaking into her trance, and she saw Gene stood over the cot of her tiny baby girl, looking impossibly huge compared to her fragile form.

"Gene..." her voice was warning him off, telling him to back off, and he did, moving over to her in the dim half light.

"Bols... I remember. I just want... I want to be with you. And our little girl. I want this to be proper." The words seemed embarrassed, but she knew they were heartfelt, and she turned her lips to his, answering him with actions not words.

"Love you, Gene." She murmured, stroking his cheek, and he smiled at her.

"Love you too, Alex. Now I think our little girl needs us."


End file.
